Short Story Saturday: Soup

SOUP

Firmly, I insert my blade just above his groin. I can feel the metal graze against the top of his pelvic bone. I've sharpened the knife enough to do the job I need it to. Pressing on the handle, I feel the blade slip past the muscle wall, and I stop. I bring the hilt back to where the end hovers above his navel. The tip of the blade gets held up under his pelvic bone, and I draw it a half inch higher up his stomach, feeling it slice easily through skin, fat, and muscle, and then unwedge from under the bone.

Screams have been escaping the man the entire time, muffled by the silk I've tied around his head and over his mouth. I'm sure the cries of pain will continue until he passes out from shock or dies—It all depends on how strong he is.

Keeping the pressure on the knife, I begin drawing the blade upward along his abdomen allowing it to slice through the muscle wall but not damaging any organs. Following the line of his happy trail, I cut through his belly button. Blood begins running out of the fissure that I've created and down his sides. Still, I pull the knife further.

His body trembles. I look to his face, tears have long since welled and ran to his hairline—tiny, salty rivers—and for a second, I feel pity towards him. Though, just that small fraction of time and I feel as if I wasted too much on him. He's only getting what he deserves.

I've reached the rib cage with my knife. As my blade moves slightly to the left of his sternum, I use more force to cut through the costal cartilage, and he passes out. I could stop to see if he regains consciousness, but he'll probably bleed out and die first. I want his heart beating when I cut it from his chest.

Working as quickly as I can, I rip my knife through the cartilage holding the ribs to the sternum. Realizing I've gone too far, I slip my blade through the flesh above the third rib down and slide it over toward his armpit.

I remove the piece of steel from his flesh, laying it on the table. Using both hands, I grab the section of ribs and pull back with brute strength. Bones break as I bend the slab down to the wooden table the man is lain upon. To hold the meat and bone down, I quickly retrieve a hammer and some nails I've previously set to the side. After pounding in several nails, I then toss the hammer to the floor.

Fumbling around inside his chest for a moment, I get my hand around his heart, and I grab the knife from the table with my free hand. I locate where I need to cut, and in seconds, the heart is free, pumping its last few beats. On the other side of the room, a fire burns within the fireplace. I go there and throw the lifeless muscle into the flames.

"At least your heart will finally show its true color and keep it as it turns to ash, you worthless mother fucker."

I return to the corpse on the table. Before wrapping him in plastic and putting him in my trunk—so I can later throw him in the woods to be a feast for scavengers—I cut his eyes, ears, and tongue from his head, and then his liver, kidneys, and spleen from his body. I plan to make a soup with these things later, which I'll deliver to his friends and family as they gather for their yearly reunion. Maybe they'll wonder what happened to him. Maybe they won't. Or, maybe they'll be relieved that he isn't there and celebrate his absence.

*This story can be found in my short story collection, Images from a Wandering Mind: a Sick and Disturbing Collection.